Not Yet
by Lone Stranger
Summary: Oneshot. He always said five words to her from the start. She always responded with two. by Lone


**A/N:** **I got this idea when I was channel surfing on the tv just now. There was this one tv movie and its last seven words told me to write a sad oneshot.**

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It had started and eventually sprung up in their 7th year. 

Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, despite recent occurrences, opened to the students for another year. Rumor was that it was the last year for the beloved school until the raging battle between Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter came to an end. Also, only incoming third years and up were permitted to come back. Disappointed understanding ran through each student who sat at their respective house tables. After all, these were difficult times. A war was brewing closer with each passing second.

She was obviously named Head Girl, much to her delight. That's when she met him, the Head Boy. Now this wasn't the first time they met, but it was the first time they actually got to know one another.

From day one he would comment in a playful voice, "You know you love me!"

A smirk played on her soft lips. "Not yet."

The months passed by much too quickly. Time seems to do that often; slowing at the dull moments but speeding pass cherishing memories. Over this time they came to appreciate one another greatly. Even nearing the school year's end he would state, "You know you love me." His tone was noticeably less joking and playful from before. Now his words flowed out from his mouth like a gentle breeze floating through on a warm summer night.

Again, she glowed up towards him. "Not yet." She had to admit, her voice changed too. Seven years really matured her quite beyond her age, not to mention that of many individuals older than herself.

Eventually summer loomed nearer and it was graduation day. They sat together at a two-chair table to eat their cake and reminisce on long forgotten pasts. He reached over and took her hand in his. "You know you love me."

"Not yet."

Surprisingly not even Ron or Harry took notice of an ever growing relationship between the two Heads. If only they paid even the slightest bit of attention they would notice stolen glances, quite whispers, brief touching of two hands.

Another year was thrown into the ground and stomped away while everyone prepared themselves for the final battle. Things were no longer safe to reveal. In short they met in private, otherwise known as the muggle world. At a little cafe, just down the block from the Leaky Cauldron, trips to a local muggle movie theatre, late nights under the stars.

Each time they met he held her close to him and she was only too happy in returning the favor. Seven words repeated over and over for days, weeks, months.

"You know you love me."

"Not yet."

In truth, she did love him so much more than she could. Both knew it yet never revealed it to anyone. Not even to each other. A silent misunderstanding crossed silently that if they were ever to admit it, even to themselves, that it would destroy either one or the other.

One more year passed. They kept touch.

Twelve months dragged by. Early evenings became less frequent.

Now we are brought to the end of the third year. By this time all communication were forced to an abrupt halt. That is, until one fateful midnight...

Misty chills ran in the dead of night. Scattered all across a wide graveyard were bodies. Some alive, others dead, and a few just holding on. Leaning against a large tomb stone was a young woman. She displayed brown curly hair mopped in front of her face. Various stains and holes etched deep into the sweater's fabric clung to many large cuts. Her jeans were covered in lots of mud, blood and sweat, and ripped everywhere.

Half of those flaws stay hidden underneath the fragile body of a man. A wound gushing from his side she weakly rubbed his cheek with one hand. The hand he wasn't using to grip his side clasped her free one. Coughing up blood he muttered.

"You kn-know... you l-love me..."

A smile found its way onto his lips. She saw and with the little air she still had she vaguely whispered.

"...Not y-yet."

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**A/N: -sniffle- Ok. It's around twelve thirty in the A.M. and I'm done now. So what do you think? It's not really five-star material... heck it's probably not even three-star material. But I'll let you be the judge of that. Review please. - Lone  
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